


Candlelight

by Raven_Rein



Category: 91 Days (Anime)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Name-soulmate, Nero is Hopeless, Soulmate AU, because of how sappy it is, writing Nero's narration was painful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 15:41:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8629681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raven_Rein/pseuds/Raven_Rein
Summary: In a dreary town of hunger and death in the fringes of the world, a young man received a letter.A name rolled off his tongue and warmth blossomed in his chest, like something lost within him has been found.He grins. Broken and sad.Soon, he will have the blood of the Vanettis in his hand, no matter that one of them is his soulmate.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [antheeia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/antheeia/pseuds/antheeia) in the [91dayskinkmeme](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/91dayskinkmeme) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Everything goes down almost the same way as the canon, except for the fact that, in this universe, there are soulmates.  
> Some souls are bound to each other, but there's no mark, no way to prove it. And yet, it's a feeling most people experiment in their life: you know that person is your soulmate when you say their full, real name out loud.
> 
> Angelo Lagusa is a cynic who says he doesn't believe in soulmates, and yet he can't find it in himself to kill his own.  
> Nero Vanetti believes in soulmates, but he hasn't yet found his own. And when Avilio Bruno shows up in his life, he wonders how can he feel such a bond with someone who _isn't_ his soulmate. Until he finds out everything, he reads the letter and says his real name out loud, and the realization hits him, that Angelo is his soulmate _and he always knew_.
> 
> It doesn't have to end tragically, you have my permission to bless us with an happy ending.

_“You will know she’s your soulmate when you say her name.”_ was what Nero’s mother used to say with a gentle smile before she died one chilly autumn morning.

Before her death, he sometimes caught her staring out the window longingly, as if waiting for someone to walk into her life. But she still smiled for her children and seemed somewhat content to be the wife of a powerful man. He found it strange that she never found hers but was capable of smiling so gently when talking about soulmates.  

But half a year after her funeral in one cloudy evening, Nero’s father did found his very own.

 His soulmate was there to help him whether the worst of his grief and to help him raise three children with grace and poise.

Nero loved to watch as genuine smile bloomed across his face and how love visibly unfurled in his eyes every time Testa Lagusa turned his attention to him. He would watch the back of their hand brush silently, comfortably, and hoped that someday he can find someone that he can love and will love him that deeply.

So, when he was still young and incredibly, stupidly naive, Nero often spent his free time piecing together random names with a hope that one of them will belong to his soulmate.

_Amelia Johanes, Stella Piccano, Luna Miller._

Sometimes Vanno will join him and gave suggestion suggestions. Then they will come up with the most ridiculous names just in case Nero’s soulmate was born far enough to have them.

_Allegra Diva, Ecko Yunique, Kylin Sdhambala._

Unlike him who tirelessly chased after that elusive bond, Vanno found his when he ate all of Fio’s special onion soup. It was offence enough to make her go red in fury and shout his full name.

_Vanno Clemente!_

Until this day, Nero still remember the strange silence that came after the angry shout and the way his sister’s eyes widened in shock. He will never, ever, let Vanno live down the elated shriek, _shriek,_ of Fio’s name he lets out before he vaulted over the table and bang his knee on a chair top to hug her.

He watched them be happy with each other after that. The same way he relished his father’s obvious joy with Testa, Fio and Vanno’s happiness is a warm blaze of hope that he kept close to his heart.

After that he stopped stringing random names together because now he knew that when the time is right and the person destined for you is in front of you, there will be no way around it. He wanted his soulmate, but he’s willing to wait for that warmth and love and contentment because he believed that in the end, it will all be worth it.

But he kept an eye on them anyway because it brought him comfort that there’s someone out there in this world that was born just for him. One whose name will never leave him as soon as it escaped past his lips, one that will brighten his day with just a smile.

You will love your soulmate, deeply and unflinchingly. It is the universal knowledge Nero embraced until one day he watched with his own eyes as his father killed his for the sake of the family.

He thought it was a temporary measure--that they will scare Testa Lagusa into fussing up about the leak to the Galassias, and that will be it. His days will be back to discreetly listening to Testa rambling about complex mathematics to his exasperatedly amused father. He will soon be back to eating Elena’s delicious sweets with his siblings and Vanno in the backyard.

He thought that there’s nothing that can go between the love of a pair of soulmate. He was wrong.

Galassia’s influence is strangling the family toward a certain death and the as the new don, Vincent has to make a choice. In the end, the blood of the old don and the ledger holder became sacrifices to prevent that.

With horror tightly squeezed into the darkest corner of his heart, Nero watched as the two soulmates drew blood from each other until one of them was dead.

The threat of Galassias did receded with their deaths, but it never completely disappeared. They’re always looming in background, in the edges of sight, like vultures waiting for weaknesses.

It was time bought by blood.

His father never recovered from that night. Nero noticed how he would sometimes wander to the common room and stared at the empty space, confused when he didn’t see Testa scowling at a stack of paper. He sometimes asked Ganzo to read the month’s income report to him then telling him to stop with a pinched voice as if he wished someone else was reading it to him.

And yet, after all that sacrifices, it was still not enough. Another one has to be made and Nero can do nothing but watch helplessly as another pair of soulmates he loved has to be torn apart for the same reason his father lost yet another half of his heart.

He was the one to sit by Vanno’s side as he raged and shouted at the world, at the Galassias, at _himself_ for not being strong enough, smart enough, for not being _enough_ to protect Fio. He was the one who held a crying Fio through the night when the wedding day were decided.

Nero felt his heart break into a million pieces when he saw his sister so beautiful in a white dress because he knew that the man who will be waiting down the aisle is not his sworn brother. It won’t be Fio’s only one.

But still, _but still,_ grappling for a fragile thread of spider silk, he desperately tried to hold on while everything is trying to make him drown, Nero believed in soulmates.

He believed that someday, he will have his one and only in his arms. And he would love her so, so much.

 

.

.

 

_In a dreary town of hunger and death in the fringes of the world, a young man received a letter._

_A name rolled off his tongue and warmth blossomed in his chest, like something lost within him has been found._

_He grins. Broken and sad._

_Soon, he will have the blood of the Vanettis in his hand, no matter that one of them is his soulmate._

.

.

.

Candlelight

.

.

.

 

“So…” Vanno drawled playfully and slung an arm around Nero’s shoulder “Avilio Bruno, huh?”

“What’s with him?” Nero turned his face sideways to stare imploringly at Vanno’s grinning face.

“Aw come on, Nero. I knew you since we’re in diapers. It’s kind of hard to miss the way you eyed him back there.”

“Yeah, I did eye him. Did you catch the keyword there? _Him._ ” Nero walked faster, forcing the other man to keep up with his pace or lose his grip.

“I bet you wouldn’t mind a moment with that Avilio kid. Hell you probably would mind a _night_.” Vanno leered.

“He’s got a good head on his shoulder and had enough gall to go against a madman with machine gun using only a switchblade. Of course I would have interest in him. You know, a member of the family whose talent is not annoying me to death?” He scowled at his best friend.

“Well.”

“What?”

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Well, did you come in your pants watching him fight?”

Nero shoved him off so hard the bastard fell on his ass, still laughing. When he stormed away with shoulders hunched, Vanno launched himself to his back and they ended up wresting on the ground like immature twelve-years old brats.

When they decided were somewhat ready to face the world like responsible adults, they brushed dust off their trousers and went into the mansion for the meeting with the don. The Vanetti heir didn’t miss how Barbero frown disapprovingly at him whenever he and Vanno sent each other subtle pokes and nudges, trying to make each other break first.

Nero knew that he’s way too old for this sort of game in the middle of an important meeting, but he consciously decided to throw that rationality out of the window and off the fucking continent for the time being. Fio’s wedding is just two weeks away and it’s clearly chipping away at Vanno. From the way his father’s eyes gleam knowingly from his seat on behind the mahogany table, he knew that he understood this too.

As the dreaded day loom closer, he was there to join Vanno _drinking_. His best friend does not drink; it was one of the constant in his world. But the night when Vanno was knocked out cold with one shot of a weak, no-name alcohol is the night where Nero realized soulmates existed, but what happen after that is not guaranteed for a happy ending.

_In the end, it all came down to choice._

Fio’s wedding came thundering down like a storm. Vanno was there by his side, watching her walk down the aisle in a white dress so beautiful, so white, and so, so sad.

Her eyes met Vanno’s for a split second before the words _I do_ sealed their fates.

The heartbreak in Vanno’s expression was clear, and what was left of the fire in Nero’s heart was blown by a bitterly frigid wind.

(Yet it somehow survived, clinging to the last sliver of warmth. Desperately fighting for that blaze.)

Two hours after that, he met again with that young man with cold eyes and knew from just one look that they can burn him inside out.

_Avilio Bruno_

Nero didn’t know what he hoped for when he let that name roll off his tongue, but his shoulder still slumped when nothing happened.

He sigh and ran a hand through his hair, messing with the hard-achieved look he perfected in the morning for the wedding. He gripped the jar of moonshine closer and squared his shoulders, knocking on the door that will lead into his father’s room. 

 

 

_._

_._

_._

“Of course. Let’s kill him. However, it won’t be us who will be doing the deed.”

_It will be good to have a new, dependable underling._

_(Or so Nero told himself)_

.

.

.

 

Nero remembers the first time he saw a naked woman when he was a teenager, along with the instant boner and embarrassingly quick climax that followed. But he don’t need photographic memory to know that it was probably not like this.

Because, for one, the person in front of him is not a woman, but one young Avilio Bruno. And he’s not even naked, just bare-chested and is in the process of pulling on Serpente’s shirt.

But Nero couldn’t tear his eyes off of the smooth skin of his belly, the soft shadows that highlighted his abs and the ridges of ribs. But worst of all, is when Avilio titled his head sideway and bared his neck; tendons stretching and becoming visible, highlighting the curves of his collarbone.

Nero swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth.  

He knew that at this point Vanno were half-grinning half-leering at him and the glare drilling hot into the back of his head definitely belonged to Corteo.

Avilio was done buttoning up the shirt and raised an eyebrow at them. Nero quickly averted his eyes so he doesn’t have to see the question in his gaze, feeling his cheeks heating up startlingly quick. Vanno snickered beside him and Corteo didn’t let up the glare.

The young man, somewhat oblivious to the tense atmosphere, shrugged and went back to changing. Dread pooled on Nero’s stomach when a pair of hands reached for the front of Avilio’s trouser. The pop of button was loud as gunshot while dread and excitement twisted his guts. Thumbs slipped under the fabric and pulled down—

“Avilio!” Corteo rushed forward and grabbed his shoulders, effectively blocking Nero’s sight.

“Corteo?” Avilio blinked at his friend in confusion.

“W-why don’t you change your trouser in the other room? Come on.” He grabbed Serpente’s trouser in one hand and dragged Avilio by his wrist with the other. Nero wondered if he imagined the usually meek boy shooting him a poisonous look as the door banged close.

“That’s too bad, huh, Nero?” Vanno cackled “Now, who said you didn’t eye him because he’s a man?”

“Shut your trap, Vanno.” He grumbled and rubbed his hot cheeks with the pad of his thumb, listening to the cackle of his best friend.

 

 

.

.

.

_One rainy evening and Nero is watching the funeral progression with knuckles clenched do hard they’re white._

_His biggest regret was that he couldn’t be there for Fio._

.

.

.

 

“So….”

Avilio sighed in exasperation. “What?”

“You have a soulmate?”

The younger man resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the man. “No.”

“No?”

“Why are you so interested, anyway?” He barked , mood rapidly darkening.

“I was just wondering, you know? I had always thought that Corteo’s your soulmate.”

“Corteo?” Avilio turned to the man who sat on the edge of the cart, figure half-hidden by the darkness of the warehouse.

“Yeah. You two seemed very close and he seems to really like you, so I just assumed you know?”

“Stop assuming, then.” Avilio shot back, bending to grab a can of pineapple and tying a length of rope around it. “We’re not soulmates.”

“…that so. Sorry.”

The two of them fell into silence, the air between them tense, waiting for the upcoming confrontation. In Avilio’s pocket, the letter felt like it’s burning. He let his eyes wander to the other man, tracing his figure in the semi-darkness.

Disgust pooled in his stomach when he realized that he had just thought that this man, _this murderer_ , is attractive. Bile quickly rose to his throat.

 He shoved a hand to his pocket and quickly lit up a cigarette 

“Hey, Avilio?”

“What?” He snapped. Nero frowned, not understanding why he seemed so irate.

“I was just going to ask you what you would like for breakfast.”

“We have no money. These pineapples will do.”

Nero groaned “I mean, just imagine! What would you really, really like to eat at this point?”

“What’s with the stupid question?”

Nero sighed, throwing up both hands in a gesture of giving up holding a conversation with the impossible man.

Something he would like to eat at this point. Avilio surprised himself by actually giving it a thought, so much that he missed Nero saying something. His eyes widened when his mind conjured the one thing he’d really like to eat right now.

“—like a cake!”

“I want cake.”

They stared at each other.

“What?”

“I was just saying if I can choose whatever I want, I’d like a cake! And then you blurted out… that.” Nero laughed something deep and rich. “Seems like our mind is on the same track!”

Avilio scowled and took a deep drag of his cigarette, intent on ignoring the bastard. All the while, Nero is grinning like he had just won some sort of door prize just by wanting to eat the same food as him. What an idiot.

“Avilio, give me a cigarette.”

“What’s wrong with yours?”

“Left it in the car.”

Avilio handed him one and tossed the lighter.

Muttering a thanks, Nero flicked it on and took a deep drag. The following exhale sounds satisfied despite the dire situation they’re in.

When the older man passed the lighter back to him, their hand brushed. Electricity sparked on the non-existent space between their skins, and both of them froze. Their eyes found each other’s in the darkness and held there.

Avilio don’t believe in soulmates ever since his father died in the hand of his. But he found himself unable to move when Nero leaned forward slowly until their breath intermingled with each other.

He knew that doing this would be a betrayal to his family’s death, to Luce’s ghost who sometimes grappled the edge of his coat and asked when his death will be avenged.

But Avilio can’t stop his eyelids to drop into half-mast when those lips come closer to his own. He unconsciously licked his chapped lips and didn’t miss the way Nero’s eyes dilated and became fully black when he witnessed the nervous tick.

Somewhere in Nero’s mind, his internal Vanno is shouting _“Ha!”_

.

The moment was shattered by the barking of a dog just outside the warehouse and the following shower of broken glass.

Avilio took fortune when he can. This is one of them.

 

.

.

.

“Should we set out on a journey again?”  
_Later, Avilio would slam his fist into a wall and tried to erase the memories of the way his heart swelled at the prospect of leaving on another road trip with Nero._

_._

_._

_._

 

Volpe saw Avilio and Corteo escaping to The Island. They have been betrayed.

Have they?

Corteo came and told them of Angelo’s plan just as the debate was heating up. With this Tigre can be saved, but Nero’s blood boiled. He grabbed Corteo’s shirt and hissed at him.

But, somewhere deep down, Nero acknowledged that he would have moved just the same, because it’s Avilio who set up the plan.

On the boat toward the Island, Nero wondered if his anger was because they’re going to see that doucheface Fango, or because the first thing that came to his mind when he heard the news was that Avilio can’t be betraying him.

He poked at that wall of absolute trust and found it holding steady. He tried kicking the damn thing to see what’s beyond and found it unbruised.

Nero scowled all the way to the Island. The feeling only ebbed away after stabbing a gleaming counter with a fork.

 

.

.

.

“Volpe, catch me a chicken.”

“Huh?”

.

.

.

 

 

Avilio blew out smoke, exhaling what felt like his vitality. Early spring breeze caressed his face, still holding enough chill of the previous winter.

_Nero Vanetti._

Letting that name fall off of his lips sent warmth rushing to his chest, the feeling like something he has been missing clicking into place.

What a joke.

He used to believe in the soulmate bond. He remembered his childish discussion with Luce over who will have the best soulmate, the way his little brother shyly asked for Corteo’s full name and the way his face fell when nothing happened after he said it.

A soulmate is someone who loved you without bounds or limits, someone who will be by your side and love you through any hardship.

But then _that night_ happened and he bore witness to a tragedy that shatters that belief. After all, if a soulmate bond is something can be broken so easily for the sake of power and pride, then what good did is it ever was?

“Avilio?”

A familiar voice called out and Corteo creaked the door to the balcony open. His eyes, ever so vulnerable, ever so honest, were shining in concern.

“What is it, Corteo?”

“You’re not wearing jacket and tonight’s wind is cold…” Corteo trailed off and raised his arm where a thick blanket hung with a smile. “Thought I’d check on you.”

Avilio kept silent when Corteo wrapped the blanket around him. The warmth that enveloped him drew a sigh from Avilio’s lips, he never realized that he couldn’t even feel his fingers until warmth crept back into them.

“I was going to make some cocoa too, but it seems like they don’t have anything else but alcohol and coffee around here. Should’ve expected that from Fango, I guess but--.”

“What major will you take?”

“Huh?” Corteo glanced at the other man, uncomprehending.

“College. What major will you take?”

“Oh. Uh… Engineering.” He smiled “I always liked it, and it yields good profit too, especially if you’re good at it.”

“Which college do you want to go to?”

“I heard there’s a good university in Chicago, I want to go there. I’ll get a small flat and maybe a side job… you can come with me, Avilio. We’ll live there together.”

Avilio hummed, and the conversation ended there. The silence that enveloped them was as comfortable as the one when they were children. It almost as if the distance that separated them never really severed their bond.

“Corteo, do me a favour?”

“What is it, Avilio?”

“Say my name.”

Corteo frowned in confusion and opened his mouth, then hesitated. As if considering something, he took a step forward to let Avilio rest his forehead against his shoulder and whisper his name, _his real name_ , gently into his ears.

Avilio shuddered and closed his eyes. Not for the first time, he mulled on how good it would have been, how easier, if only Corteo was his soulmate.

But his name doesn’t fulfil the emptiness in Avilio’s heart, and by the way Corteo sigh sadly and wrap his arms around him to ward off the chill, he knew that he felt the same longing.

But just for now, he let himself relish the warmth offered by his brother.

 

.

.

.

“You were the one who dragged me into this!”

_Killing the Vanetti family is his goal. Losing sight of it is the same as losing his reason to keep on living._

_He pretended that Corteo’s words don’t cut and made him bleed something painful._

_._

_._

_._

 

“Avilio, won’t you stay?”

In the blanket of night, Corteo’s words were wisps of fog. It clouded the edges of his hurt and made him lost sight of his all-encompassing hatred.

Avilio turned to his side and stared at Corteo, under the sheets with his dark skin painted in moonlight, hand outstretched as if still trying to reach him despite everything he selfishly asked of him just to get closer to his revenge.

But at this moment, he couldn’t feel the maddening drive to sink his hands into flesh and press his blade in until all he can see is red. There was only the soft contour of his brother’s face, expression sad yet hopeful.

In that moment everything was perfect. Corteo was perfect.

So he let go of his self-control and crawled into the space between him and the wall, mapping the contour of his face with the tips of his fingers. They caught on the edge of his lips and he turned his face slightly, pressing them firmly against Avilio’s fingers.

He can be happy like this, held by Corteo with the wall on his back. He can forget about his revenge if he’s willing to stay.

When Corteo kissed him, it tasted of smoke and moonshine and found himself wondering if this is how Nero tasted like. He moans when a tongue pressed into his mouth, wiping his mind clean.

Avilio tried erasing the images of Nero and replaced them with Corteo. Tried to erase his hatred with the light of his smile.

But he couldn’t.

He found himself thinking the fingers pressing into his hips is not calloused enough, the hair brushing against his forehead is too soft, the legs tangling with his too thin and smooth, the lips tracing a path down his abs not chapped enough.

Avilio couldn’t remember whose name he called when he came.

When morning came and he woke up still in Corteo’s arms, he saw the heartbreak on his face despite the other man trying to mask it with a smile. It was answer enough.

The next day, he packed his sparse belonging and continued to Chicago, a promise to come back made over a shared flicker of lighter flame.

He wanted that peace, that companionship, Corteo waiting for him with a cup of sweet coffee in the morning light. But he couldn’t get them as long as Nero and his family still existed.

He will come back after his revenge is done, after he no longer have the bogus of a soulmate tethered to him.

 

.

.

.

_The blood of a loved one stained his hand.  
A brother that he could have imagined living the rest of his life with, the one that could give him some semblance of happiness, the one that Angelo loved with all his broken, withering heart, now lay stiff. _

_A bullet killed off hope_

_A bullet he himself shot off_

.

.

.

 

Even now, he’s still seeing Corteo.

It hurts, knowing that he lost something so precious by chasing something else so empty.

His last glimpse of Nero before the carnage is when he helped him into a tuxedo. The newly named don eyed him with something warm that was too close to concern for him to be comfortable.

Damn him. Damn him and everything he ever stood for.

The hatred burns.

 

.

.

.

“You! You’re the demon who invaded the family and stained Nero! I will kill you with my own hands! The one who will protect Nero is me!”

_The loud_ bang _that follows didn’t rouse anything from Avilio. Not sadness because of his averted death. Not happiness because he now can continue his revenge._

_._

_He’s just too empty._

_._

_._

_._

“Angelo Lagusa…” Nero whispered to himself. He had one moment of emptiness, of void before a rush of heat slammed into him with veracity.

“ _Angelo Lagusa_ ” he repeated the name, a cold chill taking over the waves of warmth. Tigre stared at him in confusion before the utter horror in his expression bled into his.

“Oh hell, Nero. Don’t tell me…”

“He’s my soulmate.” Nero whispered numbly while Ganzo openly stared at him.

Nero choked on nothing as his mind decided to reel back every single moment he was with Avilio, the fire that burns for hours after a simple brush of his hand, the utterly alien feeling in him when he saw Avilio’s naked torso, the undying _trust_ he placed on the man despite every clue and Barbero’s advices pointing that he _shouldn’t be trusted._

The dreams he had at night that made him woke up with soiled sheet and the young man’s name on his lips, the fantasy that made sleeping with women feels unsatisfactory.

The way he desperately wanted Avilio to remain by his side by giving him a second chance. The way his broken expression after he killed Corteo shattered something within him but satisfied another because _there’s no one else now. He’s all mine._

The letter fell from his slack grip and fluttered to the floor where Barbero’s blood began saturating the edges.  He can only stare at the written name as it began to be dyed red and rendered it unreadable.

_“You will know she’s your soulmate when you say her name.”_ was what Nero’s mother used to say with a gentle smile before she died one chilly autumn morning.

‘ _That’s not right mother. I knew it was him. I knew it was him long before I even said his name.’_

In a room where the corpse of his right hand man laid, killed by his soulmate, Nero realized that he has been in love with Avilio even before he knew of his real name. Has been ever since he laid his eyes on a graceful, deadly young man with cold eyes who pressed a switchblade into Fango’s neck.

He had been in love since the very beginning.

 

.

.

.

 “In the end, it was all for nothing”

_Nero wondered if he thought of Testa Lagusa when those last words escaped his rapidly paling lips._

_._

.

.

 

His head hurts.

There were too many things in there, cluttering, mixing, fighting for attention. They were filling his head and making it heavy, making his skin felt like it’s stretched far too thin.

There was fury, relief, anguish and many other emotions he couldn’t even begin to make head from tail. They threatened to snuff out the fire of hope he had been desperately tried to keep alive for so many years.

Avilio is warm beneath his shirt, his stuttering breath smelled of smoke, his tears were droplets of chill on Nero’s fisted knuckles.

His sobs broke something fragile inside of Nero, and every shudder that shook his shoulders woke up something primal in him. Something that is now hurting along with the man in front of him despite everything that happened.

Nero’s fists loosened from the white-knuckled grip and Avilio fell into his chest. Every gasp now reverberated through the cages of his ribs and twist straight into his heart.

Before he knew it, Nero’s arms were encircling his smaller form, seemingly so frail in the outburst of all the pain he has been holding in all these years.

When his legs gave out, Nero slid down with him to kneel on the damp ground. Angelo’s tears were soaking his shirt but he couldn’t find it in him to move. He couldn’t find it in him to hate the man who killed his family and destroyed everything he knew.

Nero gave up.

_The candle has been burning for far too long, it was holding on the last of drops of wax. The fire flickered and danced, but it still burns when Nero placed his finger in the glow._

He buried his face into the younger man’s hair, rubbing his cheek and nose into his scalp the way he remembered his father used to do for him when he cried as a small child. He hoped it was as comforting for Angelo as it was for him.

Slowly the sobs tapered off into harsh breathing. Accompanied by the crackling of fire, Nero wondered how he can feel so calm when he literally had no allies left in this world, everything he knew has burnt and all his belonging packed in a car.

Angelo called his name hoarsely, and Nero loosened his hold enough for him to lean back from the cradle of his chest.

The younger man’s eyes were red and puffy from all the crying he did. Tears tracks were still clearly engraved on his pale skin. Nero longed to wipe them away, and so he did.

Angelo raised his eyes to meet with his. They were dark in the dying burn of fire, but there were clarity that he never saw in them dancing on the opulent surface.

Nero remembered that moment from a lifetime ago; a dark warehouse, the two of them waiting together for a confrontation with an assassin, the brush of Angelo’s hand against his, the warmth of his breath on his cheek.

This time, it was Angelo who leaned forward to brush his lips against Nero.

Their first kiss was warm and salty from Angelo’s tears. His arms trapped between their bodies because of his bound hands. Angelo’s lips were wet, their angles all wrong. It was honestly one of the worst kiss Nero ever had in his live. And it was perfect.

He knew that he fell in love with Angelo, he just could never peek into the surface and see the bottom. So he assumed that it was as deep as the pond on the Vanetti Family backyard where he nearly drowned to death when he was small.

But it was not like that. It was deeper, and when Nero submerged he cannot see the light of the sun, he didn’t even know which way was up. He’s drowning, and he let himself be.

It was an entire ocean.

He laid the younger man on a pile of blanket by the dying fire and kissed him, enjoying every sound that vibrated the air, every arch that drove their bodies closer.

The shirt couldn’t be taken off because of his bound hand, but they quickly forgot about that in favour of a taste of skin.

Holding Angelo in his arms felt right. It felt like finding something precious he lost long ago. It felt like coming home.

He could watch this his entire life, Angelo writhing beneath him in pleasure, his fingers pressing bruises into his skin, the marks from his mouth blooming on pale neck that once had drove him crazy, the flicker of firelight on marble skin.

Angelo is so beautiful. He’s nothing like what Nero would imagine his soulmate to be, but now that he had him, he couldn’t image anyone else. Couldn’t image anything else.

Afterward, he redressed him and held a sleeping Angelo in his arms.

With no one witnessing, he whispered the name he dreamt of since he knew what a soulmate is over and over.

_Angelo Lagusa_

_Angelo Lagusa_

_Angelo Lagusa_

.

.

.

“You don’t need a reason to live. You just live.”

_Stay with me._

_._

_._

_._

 

Nero remembered that the first time he saw this young man walking into the bar with bottles of Lawless Heaven in a briefcase, he had been captivated when his name fell off of the stranger’s lips.

_Nero Vanetti_

He wondered if that was the first time Angelo said his name. Was at that moment he realized that Nero was his soulmate?

Or was it before? Did he said his name out loud, all alone in a place Nero didn’t know, couldn’t reach?

He knew that Angelo said his full name a few times in the span of three months after they met. When he felt the rush of heat and the clicking of puzzle pieces fitting together, did he felt disgust? Hatred? Disappointment?

Had he disappointed his soulmate even before he knew who he was?

Something twisted and dark swelled in Nero’s chest, choking him.

 

.

.

.

“I didn’t kill you because I don’t want to.”

_Nero realized at that moment that those words, so frankly said, was as close as a love confession as he’ll ever get._

_._

_._

_._

He thought of the days Avilio must have suffered (because of him) the days he must have wished for death, a far kinder fate than the one he has been dealt with (on the hands of his own soulmate). And then he understood Angelo’s one wish.

No matter that this choice will forever haunt him, that blood of his one and only will become a burden far too heavy for him to carry and slowly kill him from inside out.

Nero always thought of himself as someone who will give his soulmate the world. So when Avilio asked for it, he decided to give him his. His whole world, he will shatter it into million pieces for him.

How can his father escape from this all-consuming need to see contentment in his soulmate’s face?

He watched Angelo’s back getting further and further as every step he took bringing him somewhere Nero couldn’t reach.

Nero pulled the trigger and a gunshot rang through the air

.

.

_… Nero realized soulmates existed, but what happen after that is not guaranteed for a happy ending._

_In the end, it all came down to choice._

 

 

.

.

.

End

.

.

.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

.

.

(Rebirth)

.

.

Avilio Bruno stand still with eyes closed, relishing in the tranquil sound of crashing waves and late-spring wind. If he just concentrates, he thinks he could hear Luce’s laughter and Corteo’s gentle words-- His precious brothers that he failed because of his own weaknesses.

Behind him, he thinks he could _feel_ Nero, _his soulmate_ , drawing a gun to absolve him from the sins, the pain and suffering. Breaking the chains of revenge and hatred with one bullet he will shoot out of compassion.

The gunshot fills the air, somehow not breaking the silent tranquillity.

It’s the end.

Angelo opens his eyes to a blue, blue sky.

The bullet don’t not hurt him, it never even come anywhere close to where stands. He can see the trail it left behind, disappearing into the faraway horizons.

Angelo takes a breath like he never breathes ever since the night of his family’s death, like the choking vice on his throat of Corteo’s blood has evaporated into thin air.

He turns back and there was Nero, head hanging low and gun dropping from his slack grip.

Angelo watches, heart thudding painfully as the man’s mouth move to form the words that he never thought he needs,

_Let’s start anew together._

_Angelo Lagusa._

It’s hope.

Angelo whispered his name, and Nero lifted his eyes. The blue were sorrowful yet firm. Determined, warm.

 They took one step to each other.

The fire blazes.

 

**Author's Note:**

> “I want to kill you.”  
> “Well, _I_ want to fuck you.”  
>  “Back off goatee bastard, he’s mine.”  
> ^That’s it. That’s the whole 12 episodes of 91 Days in a nutshell.


End file.
